


In the Dark He Can Grieve

by HPFandom_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, M/M, Sexual Content, Slash, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-11-03
Updated: 2005-11-03
Packaged: 2018-09-30 10:27:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10161149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HPFandom_archivist/pseuds/HPFandom_archivist
Summary: He’s alone in the dark of his room, and can no longer fight the tears. Severus grieves for that which he lost.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from SeparatriX, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [HP Fandom](http://fanlore.org/wiki/HP_Fandom_\(archive\)), which was closed for health and financial reasons. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [HP Fandom collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hpfandom/profile).

**Harry Potter is the property of JKR**

It is so cold tonight, the fire has gone out leaving the room in pitch black. No more shadows dancing on the walls, no more soothing crackling noise of the flames...silence...stillness. His eyes try to adjust to the lack of light as his body tries to adjust to the cold as his heart tries to adjust to the loneliness. 

He realizes that the tears can flow freely now, in the dark even he won’t be able to see them, won’t feel the shame that goes with them. He’s so quiet in his sorrow, so silent in his grief. He wants to use his long slender fingers to wipe away his tears, he wants to let them dry on his face in the cool air. 

He presses his face into the pillow, contemplates smothering himself, it’s the only way he knows to end this hollow feeling that is taking over him. His body shakes gently, rocking back and forth in a familiar rhythm. His body moving on the hard mattress both arouses him and calms him. 

He lets his hips push down, he hesitates, then allows them to move on their own accord. He feels detached from the movement, he’s aware of the growing arousal, the heat pooling in his stomach and moving down, he’s aware of it, but it feels like he is floating somewhere above himself and watching. 

The bed squeaks, the sounds echo off the stone walls, ruins the stillness that had settled in the room. He bites the pillow, his tongue pushes against the material, wets it with his saliva. His hips are slamming down hard now, a small whimper escapes his lips. 

He doesn’t want to lose control, doesn’t want to give in. It’s building, he’s rushing towards something, he feels light headed, dizzy. He wants so much to just slip into oblivion, to disappear into the shadows and be forgotten. He doesn’t want to wake up in the morning, doesn’t want to face another sunrise knowing he won’t be there. Doesn’t want to stand under the July sun and feel the heat of it on his back while they put him in the ground, while they bury him under the filthy dirt. 

He breaks, snaps like a twig. His scream hurts his ears, he feels the wetness in his pajama bottoms, his hips stop moving, he stills. Hot salty tears streak down his face and his shoulders shake as he sobs. He finally lets it out, gasping for air, choking on his own saliva, his eyes squeeze closed and it almost sounds like he’s laughing. He can’t stop now, his lip is quivering, he takes long deep breaths through his mouth, swallows hard. 

 

He opens his eyes, rolls over onto his back and gazes up into nothingness. One tears slips back across his cheeks, he can feel it stop on his earlobe, refuses to wipe it away. His mouth is slack and he is breathing deeply, he feels so cold. 

He wants to whisper his name one more time, to hear it fall from his lips in the silence. ‘Harry.’He can’t bring himself to give the name up to the night, keeps it for himself, repeats it over and over in his head, ‘Harry, Harry, Harry....my Harry.’

He’s so tired now, exhausted really. In the morning they will bury him, lower his body into the ground and begin forgetting him. He doesn’t want to forget him, to forget those green eyes and that hair that he was never able to tame. He doesn’t want to forget that expression he always had after catching the snitch, that laugh, the way he would make that adorable little snorting sound and his whole body joined in the laughter. He doesn’t want to forget those tender kisses, the way he would lick the tip of his nose and then pull away, tease him. 

His eyes flutter closed, there are only two hours until sunrise. As he drifts towards sleep his chest tightens, his hand reaches out to the empty side of the bed and finds nothing. A strangled whimper surprises him, he’s falling again, losing him again. Why does he keep doing this to himself? His hands fist in the sheets, ‘Oh Merlin’ he can’t remember the last thing Harry said to him...he can’t remember what he said.


End file.
